


Derek Hale's Hidden Talents

by betp



Series: From Tumblr [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betp/pseuds/betp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek are doing something they should be doing, in a place they shouldn't be doing it in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Hale's Hidden Talents

“We should go,” Stiles decides, authoritative. He doesn’t seem to have any authority over Derek, though. “Um, like, away from here. Away from my…” Derek looks impishly up at him, and then drags the zipper of his pants down. “ _Umm_ , okay, _that’s_ the opposite of going.”

“Is it?” Derek wonders.

“It is. It’s so very, um, not going, that, um—” Stiles gives up on trying to speak, because Derek is pulling his shorts down and licking his dick, and Stiles’ mouth has dropped open and he doesn’t really want to just make noises at him. That’s _so high school_. “Mm. Uh.” Stop it.

Derek looks up at him again. _God_ , that’s so hot. Stiles sort of wants a _painting_ of this. He wants to commission Bodi-fucking- _celli_ to paint for him the sight of Derek, under the covers of his childhood bed, preparing to blow him. He looks chaotic, stormy almost. Beautiful. And, artfully, Stiles’ cock is poking him in the mouth. Stiles should, like, hit him with it. That would be funny. He grins down at Derek. “You wan’ me to stop?” Derek asks him. And that’s a good question.

It’s a question Stiles asks his stomach right before he eats the last slice of an entire pizza. Usually his stomach says _yes, please stop, i’m_ begging _you_ , but Stiles eats it anyway. That’s something Stiles should look into, instead of just whimpering helplessly and saying, “No, don’t, never stop, are you _serious_?”

Derek’s eyes sharpen, shrewd. This is the look someone gets when they’re about to descend on prey. And Stiles wants to _submit_. He’s so keyed up he can’t really even lie still, pinned as he feels—and when Derek carefully coils a hand around the base of Stiles’ cock—sucks the rest of it into his mouth, Stiles can’t _explain_ the noise he makes so much as liken it to the auditory version of the taste and color of a _blood orange_. It’s sharp and intense like that, like Derek, like their lives, sometimes.

Derek pulls off, lets him spark and writhe for a second, and then sucks him back in again. Stiles would never, meeting him for the first time, have pegged Derek Hale for the giver of excellent blowjobs, and yet—here we are. Here Stiles is, letting Derek push a finger inside him and suck his dick. He kind of wants to take this scene they’re in and email it to his high school self. Subject: Derek Hale’s hidden talents. Body: Show him this. Tell me what color he turns. Thanks. Stiles. 

Suddenly, Derek’s eyes open—he looks less wolfish, now. He pulls off, face vaguely startled. Stiles only has time to wonder what that’s about for a second before his dad opens his door.

“Dad!” Stiles shoves Derek off and clutches at the bedclothes, clumsy and flushed. “Daddy—daddio, sir! S-señor!”

“Your highness,” Derek offers quietly.

“Your highness!” Stiles whips his head around. “What? Your hi— _what_?” Derek is laughing. “You’re an _asshole_. I can't—”

“Stiles,” prompts the sheriff again. Stiles goes as abruptly silent as if someone turned him off. Derek continues to chuckle to himself. “I don’t mean to interrupt you during, um, your _tryst_ ,” the sheriff goes on, while Derek clears his throat, “but I thought I should remind you that I live here.”

“Right,” says Stiles.

“And it’s late.”

“Yeah.”

“So if you could—”

“Right, yeah. _Yes_.”

“—keep it down…”

“Keep it—? I thought you were gonna tell us to go home.”

“We do have one of those,” Derek mutters, sinking further into the bed.

“I’m not gonna pretend you’re not welcome here whenever you want,” the sheriff sighs, depleted and uncomfortable, “but I _am_ gonna make it a standing rule that when you are here, try to—”

“Please stop talking,” Stiles says. “We weren’t, we were just, it’s not what it—”

“I’m not asking _questions_ —”

“You’re making an ass out of you and me!”

“—I’m just asking for basic courtesy—”

“—we were talking about, um, politics!”

The sheriff stops midsentence, looks at Stiles, exasperated. “Politics? _Really_.”

Stiles can’t back that up. He has no recourse. He switches tracks quickly. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Okay, _now_ I’m asking you to go home,” the sheriff amends, irritated. “Before I just wanted plausible deniability, but now I want you to vacate.”

“Vacating,” Stiles says, tumbling out of the bed. He’s so obedient and helpful. “Vacation activating. Go. Go, Derek.”

“I _am_ ,” snaps Derek. He’s tying his shoe as slowly as is humanly possible. Then again, he’s not really human, is he.

“Loveyoubye,” says Stiles, dragging Derek past his father and down the stairs.

The sheriff calls, “See you Tuesday.” 

On the way out the door, Derek says a little gleefully, “Don’t expect a rain check,” and Stiles groans. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this myself, but I still have a lot of questions. How did they end up fully clothed and under the blankets? Why are they in the sheriff's house? Why am I alive? Queries that have plagued scientists for decades.


End file.
